Sing A Song Of Sixpence: A Shasta Holmes Novel
by SheWhoScrawls
Summary: Jay Watson, formerly Jackie, is a closeted transgender male when he arrives at the Musgrave Academy on scholarship, and is set up as a roommate to the school's notorious delinquent genius, Shasta Violet Holmes. Jay is the first one able to deal with Shasta's moods and habits, and finds himself more attracted to her than anything. And then a fellow student is murdered.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hey guys! The summary will not let me write enough, so I'm gonna give you the rundown before we get started. This story is rated T, closer to M but not explicit enough. I'd say suitable for 15+. I'm giving a warning for pretty major profanity, and frequent mentions of subjects such as murder, rape, suicide, self harm, sex, and drug abuse. This story is also very LGBT friendly (with bisexual and transgender main characters), and while I do not believe this influences the rating, I want to put it plainly out there for anyone who may find it uncomfortable._

 _This was also based off of an idea of mine about a modern gender-bent AU set at a private school that I had several years ago, but came back to the forefront when I read A Study In Charlotte by Brittany Cavallaro earlier this year. (Amazing book, by the way, definitely check it out and its sequel, The Last of August.) I hope you guys enjoy! - Ell_

* * *

The Maiwand Preparatory School was admittedly not my favorite place in the world, albeit having a world-class biology program. Of course I was serious about becoming a doctor, but I was 16 years old, for God's sake. I was introverted enough, but anywhere where kids were suspended for the elsewhere routine whispers during class was a little too uptight for me. Every day for the past month, I had eyed the stack of pamphlets for the Musgrave Academy at the entrance to the South Hall. It had a prestigious medical program, and was 100 miles away from Buffalo - much further from home than I was now. See, my parents were urging me to put myself further out in the world. Doctors should be fiercely independent, they said. The issue was the cost of tuition. Only children of senators and CEOs could afford to attend, and scholarships were few and far between.

"Did you hear that Miles Lorde and Angela Perry hooked up Saturday night?" I heard a whisper from three lockers down. "My brother's in Miles' grade, and he told me he told her every muscle he was using while he was on top of her."

The girl's friend made a tsking noise. "Well I heard that _she_ called out the names of the muscles twitching inside of her."

The first girl immediately shot back, "Well _I_ heard that she called ' _Carl Linnaeus'_ at the end."

I had to physically bite my lip to keep from laughing as I shoved my anatomy book into my backpack and headed down the hall.

Ellis Murray, my roommate of two years, master of cheating on exams, sprinted up to me. "Jackie! Did you or did you not hear about that brilliant dissection 1st period?"

I sighed. "No, Ellis, I did not. I don't care to, either."

Ellis rammed my shoulder lightly as we walked through the courtyard to reach the South Hall. "What is up with you this week? You're chickening out all of a sudden."

"I am not!" We pushed open the huge double doors to get into the hall. "I had a virus last weekend, I'm still queasy."

Ellis snorted. "Whatever you say, man. You didn't look ill at the bar Friday night."

"I didn't drink anything, did I?"

"You never drink anything! Christ, Watson, you're such a lightweight."

"Just because you've never seen me drink doesn't mean I'm a lightweight. I'll bet I hold my booze much better than you."

"Listen dude, I'm sure as hell gonna hold you to that someday, but right now I'm just worried about you. What the heck's goin' on up there?" She flicked my upper temple playfully, and I flinched away from her.

"Listen, Ellis, don't you ever just hate this school? It's like prison without all the piss in the courtyard," My eyes subconsciously drifted to the Musgrave Academy table.

Ellis tracked my gaze. "I'd personally remove and sell my own kidney to go there," she muttered, hunger in her eyes. "My brother Al's friend went to one of their parties, like five years ago…" she shook her head in awe before snapping her head back towards me. "And the students! You know that's where Violet Holmes goes?"

I knitted my eyebrows together as I removed my water bottle from the side of my backpack. "Who?"

"Violet Holmes! She's a genius! I'm sure she'd be on a full ride to Yale by now if she hadn't been kicked out of ten high schools her freshman year."

I almost choked on my water. "Ten? How the hell does a 14 year old get kicked out of ten schools in one year?"

"That girl has some kind of a reputation. Fuck, you sure you've never heard of her blog?"

"I'm sure," I assured her. "If she's such a deity to you, why don't you tell me?"

Ellis lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Okay, so she's, like, wicked smart, right?"

"You mentioned."

"And she's got this morbid crime fixation. She's helped out statewide police with, like, a shitton of cases. Under wraps, of course. But she runs this blog like an online advice column? People send her questions and communicate with her about their missing husbands or whatever. And she tracks him down and solves the case _without personally investigating_! Like, she'll just ask them questions about it, then tell them what happened! And people pay her for it!"

"Wow," I said, impressed, but unsure how else to respond.

Ellis shook her head. "Anyway. I'm halfway tempted to apply for the scholarship."

I straightened instantly, my heart skipping a beat. "What scholarship? Murray, why the fuck didn't you tell me there was a scholarship? Why didn't I know there was a scholarship?"

My roommate's mouth fell open in a small o. "Shit Jackie, I assumed you'd know! It's called the Maiwand scholarship, they just introduced it. It requires a personal essay, and one student from Maiwand will receive a full scholarship to their pre med program."

Without another word, I lunged to grab a flyer from the table. "I'm taking my study hall in the library. Tell Mr. Elsworth I'm not ditching on my life. See you at lunch!"

* * *

An hour later, I'd concluded that the personal essay needed to be ten pages on planning out my career in medicine, and was due in a week. This only took me 15 minutes. The next 30 were spent with my head in my arms, staring bleakly at the top of the table. You know, one of those minimalist abstract ones that wasn't plastic and wasn't stone, but had a cool, smooth surface? The blue ones with the colored flecks like a Pollock painting that you see at public libraries? I looked straight at each dot and told it personally how hopeless my situation was.

Watsons were storytellers. I, in particular, I was told, had genes that tapped directly into the family's creative vein. Creative being the key word. I'd won enough grade and middle school story contests to have a whole wall of certificates and trophies.

The problem was, I couldn't write essays to save my life. History was fine, if I had a specific topic. The information was all right there. But a personal, nonfiction essay, about an abstract concept _in the future?_ One that I hadn't even really considered myself? I might as well just consign myself to spend the final year of high school in this middle class dictatorial hellhole.

My wallowing left me with 15 extra minutes left in study hall, after I concluded that I wouldn't be a Watson if I didn't at least try. I fished my essay binder out of my bag and cracked it open, filling the air in front of me with a cloud of gathered dust particles. How heartening. The last partially inked page was from three months ago, in January. It was an essay assignment I'd opted out of in favor of an advanced dissection. I didn't exactly think that was an option here.

I wrote _Scholarship Essay_ at the top of the page, in the straightest handwriting I could muster. Then I felt my chest tighten with anxiety. What was my plan? I'd graduate, go to a full medical school, do my residency...and then what? What would my specialties be? I had no plan whatsoever. But goddammit, I would bullshit one to the best of my ability if it got me out of here.

* * *

The week rushed by in a series of late nights, liters of coffee, and forays into an incredibly dogeared thesaurus. Finally, the Sunday night before the submission deadline, Ellis rested her chin on my shoulder wistfully as I carefully typed up my essay.

I narrowed my eyes in consideration as I put the finishing touches on the document. "Do you think it matters that the tenth page only has four lines of essay?" I asked.

"Hmmmm…" Ellis thought for a moment before responding. "I think the whole ten pages thing is arbitrary. It really is quality over quantity, they just didn't want to seem too easy."

"Oh my God I hope so," I replied with a groan, running the pages through one more spellcheck before closing my eyes and hitting send before I could overthink it too much.

"You gonna tell your folks?" Ellis asked, her Virginia accent showing through in her curiosity.

I narrowed my eyes at her. "It's not something you can keep a secret forever. Especially not if you get in."

"You should call them tonight," Ellis singsonged, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

I picked up my binder and slapped her across the shoulder with it. "You just want to hear her call me muffin."

"I always said your eyes look like roasted pistachios."

"Shut up!" I pushed her playfully as I dialed my phone, and Ellis rolled onto the floor between our beds with a giggle. "Just for that I'm not putting it on speaker."

"Thank you for sparing my _auris fossas_."

"Jacqueline, sweetheart, how _are_ you!" Crooned my mother after a mere ring and a half.

I grimaced and fumbled to turn my phone's volume down a few notches. As if that would help. "Hey mom! Yeah, yeah I'm good. Yes, I'm studying for finals. No, I haven't been to any parties. Listen, you know how we discuss a few times a year how great the program at Musgrave would look on my applications, but how we could only afford it if we struck oil in the backyard?"

My mother's voice was stern. "Now Jacqueline, you know it's a moot point! You cannot go to that school. End of discussion."

"There's a scholarship!" I blurted before she put down the phone for a moment and mock hung up.

"What scholarship? Here now, are you pulling my leg?"

"No! I'm not! I just found out about it this week! I'd have called sooner, but I was so busy cramming for it. I wrote the essay and I just sent it in and I think -" But saying anything else would have been a _moot point,_ to quote my mother's favorite phrase. She was already shrieking into our home phone's vintage mouthpiece.

"Jacqueline! Oh my _God_ what a _surprise!_ " My tiny smartphone speakers emitted a series of feedback riddled screeches as I jumped at the noise and dropped my phone, making a spectacular series of fumbles before recovering it in time to hear, "how much else will we have to pay?"

I stammered a few syllables to try and explain, but I was cut off once again. "Because if it's not a full ride, you know we can't manage those kinds of debts. Especially not with your post high school education - and we're expecting scholarships for that, too! Otherwise, do you know what that makes this?"

"Mom, just -"

"Do you know what it is, Jacqueline." Her voice was icy and stern.

I sighed and massaged my temple. "A moot point?"

"Yes, darling. Now do tell me; how much is this scholarship?"

"I've been trying to explain, mom. It's a full ride."

I winced and held the phone out at arm's length as my mother screamed again. "Harry! Harry, come in here! Jacqueline, I'm putting you on speaker, muffin."

I tried to groan as softly as I could without being heard. This conversation was not going as quickly as I'd hoped.

Ellis, not getting my subtle hints that I'd prefer softer noises of annoyance and hilarity in the background, guffawed loudly.

My mother returned to the phone with my father in tow. She, unfortunately, had heard everything. "Oh, is that Ellis I hear? Put it on speaker, muffin!"

This was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I hope you guys are appreciating this! Again, if the profanity/themes are not your thing, feel free to ignore this story, and let me know if I should up the rating. And please review, it motivates me! - Ell_

* * *

Time is a very strange thing. Especially when you're a teenager. Moments and weeks and memories all flash past, and you can't concentrate on them even though you know they're some of the most important times in your life.

The final weeks of school were just like that. If you were to ask me what exam I took that morning, I wouldn't have been able to tell you. You could have pointed out the window towards the sizzling hot pavement and said we were having a freak blizzard, and I wouldn't have seen anything wrong with your statement. Because the present slips by like shimmering ether when all you're focused on is an intangible point in the future.

I didn't have a fucking clue if I would win the Maiwand Scholarship. But the hypothetical thought of Jackie Watson three months in the future, off to chart the new and unstable terrain of a private, high end school was nothing if not exhilarating.

The evening of June 4th, Ellis and I were surrounded by boxes and rolls of exposed packing tape that were being ruined by drifting hair and lint. I was leaning at an absurd angle trying to examine myself in our full length mirror over a stack of boxes full of clothes and books. Miles Perry, playboy extraordinaire complete with a mansion, was holding an end of school bash tonight, and Ellis had insisted that I go.

She had stuffed me into a tight fitting black cocktail dress of hers, which hung very awkwardly on my frame. Ellis' shoulders were broad and muscled, and the straps of the dress bunched and kept falling down on my shoulders. But what I lacked in shoulder, I made up for in hips and butt, and the skirt stretched over my curves, giving my hips almost no movement for walking.

"Relax, Jackie!" Ellis assured me about my shoulders. "If the straps slip a little, it looks like you're having fun dancing!"

"Ellis, how the hell am I supposed to dance? If I move my hips this thing's going to split!"

"We need to show off your curves! You haven't had a date since the end of freshman year!"

I didn't want to show off my curves. In fact, most of what I was critically examining in the mirror was how uncomfortable the shape of my body made me. I always tried to hide it as much as I could, in loose shirts and jeans. My bosom was more ample than I liked. I had been told firmly by various sources that it was a blessing, and that I would someday grow to love my "luscious" B cups. But no matter how much I studied my figure in the mirror and tried to learn to accept that it was what I'd been given, it felt wrong and foreign, like it was someone else's body I was looking at.

Still, I hadn't been to a single house party in my three years of high school, and Ellis decided I was an awkward fledgling who had cowered in the nest for far too long. I was willing to humor her, at least this once.

* * *

The party was decidedly underwhelming. I'd never been to the house of someone whose family made six digits or more, and I don't know exactly what I was expecting. A 60 inch curved TV screen? A swimming pool on the third story balcony with a glass bottom? A high-tech intercom system equipped with video chat in every room? All those things were a part of the Perry's luxurious setup. But it wasn't as glamorous as people always make it out to be, especially with swarms of less rich teenagers quickly consuming every accomody.

Each level of the house had a drink table, with a variety of beers and liquors and vodkas. Truth be told, I'd never had a drink in my life, and I eyed the bottles and punch bowls suspiciously as I watched everyone around me becoming increasingly intoxicated.

It seemed to me that alcohol was best left in its cold, glass bottles, which served as a harsh barrier between the fermented liquid and the sober world outside. I supposed something could be said for people seeking solace in something to numb the pain of life, but like all forms of self destruction, it only caused more pain in the long run - just look at my brother. Henry was 15 years my senior and had started drinking with friends after he started high school and fell in with the wrong sorts on his soccer team. My parents paid for repeated rehab visits, but each time he took a half step forward, his addiction took over his brain again and he took two steps back. Henry was the reason my parents could barely afford to send me to Maiwand, let alone Musgrave. I had to win that scholarship, and better my chances at success for the only real child my parents had left.

I shook myself out of my reverie at the sound of a familiar laugh.

Ellis, tall and broad, stood leaning against the waist high iron railing of the balcony, flirtatiously tipping her shoulders back as she chatted up a tattooed goth girl from the school across town. She clumsily ran a hand through her carefully gelled and sprayed blonde pixie cut, the drink in her other hand wobbling slightly. As she brought the hand down to steady it, the girl she was talking to bit her lip and grabbed it impulsively. I rolled my eyes, knowing that Ellis was already on her third drink, and vowing to keep an eye on them if they made to disappear.

Some feeling of bitterness and jealousy came over me the longer I watched them, even though I knew Ellis was the most notorious flirt in town - if you were absent a penis, that is. Before I could reason with myself, I had taken two strides over to the drink table and was fixing myself a medicated punch.

It didn't occur to me that the punch clearly wouldn't be uncontaminated on a table full of alcohol, so after I poured my punch I grabbed a bottle of vodka and poured some in. It was probably more than I should? I had no idea how to measure these things.

"Whoa there," said a girl with a button nose and nasal voice who I knew solely from the halls in school. "The punch is already pretty spiked, y'know."

 _Fuck._ I glanced down at my red solo cup, my stomach flipping once as I considered whether or not I should ditch it.

In the end, a surge of courage came over me, and I squared my shoulders and took a forceful gulp. It took everything I had in me to not turn and retch in the punch bowl. Okay, strike what I said before: I had no idea why people drank to temporarily numb their misery. The stuff was vile. I wondered if it was only the unorthodox combination I'd made, but after I separated the taste of the vodka on my tongue, I knew it wasn't.

Apparently I hid my nausea well, however, because the girl laughed and whistled. "Damn. I never pegged you as the rebellious type. I was shocked to see you here at all. But I mean this _obviously_ isn't your first time." Her voice was haughty, like she assumed witnessing me gulp alcohol told her every detail about my personality.

I looked around desperately for an escape, and only when I couldn't find one did I try for small talk. "So...Miles' parents obviously don't know about this party…" I tried to sneak an invisible question into my ellipsis, wanting to satisfy my curiosity about where they were.

"Oh, they're on a second honeymoon on the Ivory Coast. They're in Cairo or someplace like that." She waved her hand dismissively, like the city was of no importance, even though she'd bothered to mention it. Or...not it. I mean, who didn't know where Cairo was? The kids at Maiwand weren't dumb, by any stretch.

"What? Don't you know where Cairo is?" Asked the obnoxious girl, eyebrows crinkling at the confusion on my face.

The alcohol was giving me an unprecedented amount of courage. "Yes," I replied. "Do you?"

She tipped her nose up at me, huffed, and walked away.

I rolled my eyes and took another swig. I had no chance of another sip without vomiting, so I pinched my nose and chugged the whole cup. When I finished, my eyes blurred, and not from lack of oxygen, for there'd only been three large gulps left in the cup. I shook my head to clear it and crumpled the plastic in my hand. My impulse control was gone. Parties tended to do that. Now I remembered why I avoided them. A couple upbeat songs and you're taking off your dress onthe balcony and grinding with some stranger, letting them feel you up in front of everyone, the only thing urging you on being the rowdy crowd around you. Alcohol hardly needed.

When my now intoxicated gaze found the far corner of the railing again, Ellis and Goth Girl were both gone. _Dammit._ Time to start checking bedrooms and bathrooms. _Unless I should just let Ellis have some fun,_ the more than tipsy voice in my head suggested. No. Absolutely not. I cared too much about Ellis to let this happen to her again. She had a history of poor romantic choices when parties and alcohol were involved. I had to watch out for her after the morning after incident. Two years ago - the last time she'd been with a guy - she was nearly blackout drunk and woke up with a stranger the next morning. She checked the trash for a condom and didn't find one, so she snuck out while he was still asleep and called me frantically to come get her so we could go get the morning after pill.

I dropped my mangled solo cup in the trash and set off into the house, breathing hard as my stomach rolled with every step.

"Have you seen Ellis Murray?" I yelled to several different people inside, but no one seemed to hear me over the laughter and music. I yelled louder, and my head spun. Was I even yelling out loud, or was it in my head? What else was just in my head?

I stumbled towards the hallway with the third floor bathroom and bedrooms, and some vaguely recognizable voice laughed in my direction. "Guys, look! Jackie's drunk!"

A chorus of agonizing adolescent jeers rose up from the crowd, and I tried to give them the finger as I charged towards the first bedroom. Who knows, maybe I raised my pinky instead. It wasn't relevant.

Some random freshman was asleep on the floor of the first bedroom, so I moved on to the second. The door gave me some resistance, as if someone had tried to lock it but given up halfway through. After a couple of pushes, it gave way, and I bursted in the room in time to see Goth Girl on top of Ellis, slowly pulling down her dress straps. When she realized the door had opened, she gave a yelp and jumped off the bed, stumbling backwards to retrieve her shirt from the floor.

Weirdly enough, I didn't even glance at Goth Girl's boobs, nor did I grace Ellis with more than a glare as she pushed herself upright and pulled up her dress. My eyes were drawn to the mahogany bedside table, where Goth Girl in her haste had knocked over a candle. The flame was slowly edging sideways towards the table's surface. No one seemed to notice it yet. I didn't know why I wasn't saying anything. The alcohol-induced fog in my brain made it look kind of...pretty. Elegant. I just stood there slack-jawed, staring.

Goth girl shrugged her plaid shirt back on and buttoned it crookedly. Ellis looked dumbly and guiltily in my direction before following my gaze. She leapt off the bed in a panic. "Shit! Shit! Oh my God!"

She grabbed Goth Girl's hand and pulled her out of the room, and they both ran down the hallway yelling for help, likely assuming I'd be right on their tail.

I wasn't. Something kept me there, rooted to the spot while chaos sprouted somewhere behind me. Why didn't they just pick up the candle before the flame reached the surface of the table? I had no idea, but I didn't do it either. I made to, ten seconds too late, but after taking one step forward I froze in my tracks again. Meanwhile a crowd was gathering outside the door.

"Don't you guys have sprinklers?"

"No, they're broken!"

"Where's a fire extinguisher?"

"Someone call the fire department!"

And I just stood there, looking like a pyromaniac.

"Oh my God! Jackie's still in there!" I heard Ellis' panicked voice over everyone else's murmurs. I heard her elbowing her way through the throng of teenagers packing the hallway like a somber mosh pit, and before I knew it she was at my side, tugging on my arm. "Jackie, come on! We have to go!"

The fire was engulfing the table now, and one tongue of flame caught onto the sheer curtains of the canopy bed. Miles was in the doorway, trying to push everyone back. "Guys! Zach called the fire department, they're on their way. Right now we all need to get out of here before it spreads!"

Spreads? It looked to me like it was taking its time, and it was so _beautiful._ Then again, Ellis yelling and pleading with me was being played out in slow motion, too.

I was so rooted to the spot, Ellis' swimmer's body couldn't move me. Finally, Miles turned away from the crowd and took ahold of me roughly, pulling me back. "Jackie! What the fuck are you doing? Get out of here!"

I whipped around my head, studying the immense panic on Miles' face. He was terrified. I turned to the fire engulfing the room slowly. Or was it quickly? The noise of the crowd was fading away, they were warning people on the balcony and stampeding down the stairs towards the exit. Ellis was still loosely tugging on me out of desperation. She was sobbing. I looked back at the fire and at last came to my senses. I turned and ran, this time pulling Ellis behind me.

I only glanced behind us long enough to see Miles rounding up the stragglers with genuine fear in his voice. He busted open the first bedroom and picked up the passed out guy by the neck of his shirt. "Come on! We have to leave!"

"Dude, waz goin on?" The guy slurred drunkenly.

"There's a fire, dumbass! Get out of here!"

"Oh, a _fire._ Yeah, whatever, asshole."

"I'll fucking carry you out of this house if I have to. Now go!" Miles' voice was dead serious.

"Dude, okay, fine," the guy grumbled, and stalked out of the bedroom, pushing past us on his way to meet the throng on the stairs.

Have you ever been to a really crowded sporting event? I'm not even talking a regular professional sports game. They're crowded, but usually pretty organized. People are mostly in lines, and then they casually filter out at the end. No, I don't mean like that. I mean when it's a beer sale night at a Yankees game and there's a fight in the bleachers and all the disgusting drunk guys press together to get in on it, and suddenly someone's stepping on your toes and the smell of sweat and beer is in your face, and you just can't seem to find your way out of it. That's what it was like trying to get down that staircase.

By the time we reached the bottom and got out onto the front lawn, the fire truck was pulling into the driveway, and everyone was hurriedly making their exit. The kids from the other town schools had driven, and they clumsily drove straight through the Perry's perfectly manicured yard to get around the fire truck. Everyone else had walked from the Maiwand campus two neighborhoods over, and we started walking slowly after them.

Ellis' tears had stopped for the most part, but she was sniffling and hiccuping as we stumbled down the sloped driveway to the sidewalk. I couldn't stop shaking all over. What was wrong with me? Why had I just stood there? I was going to be sick. Not yet, but I would be soon, I could feel it.

We walked down the street in stunned silence, watching as groups of people trailed past us, murmuring and laughing. Once we were well enough out of earshot, Ellis turned to me, mascara streaked down her face like she was some kind of slutty raccoon. "What the hell, Jackie? You could have been killed! What's wrong with you?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and stumbled for a bit before regaining my equilibrium. I glanced behind me. There was no crack in the sidewalk.

"Oh my God! You're drunk!" Her voice was accusatory.

"I'm not! I'm just really freaked out!"

Ellis pulled me closer and sniffed me. "You are! You're drunk!"

"And you're not?" I shot back.

She ignored me. "How many drinks did you have?"

"Just the one!"

I heard her let out an almost-laugh. "Oh my God! You _are_ a lightweight!"

I was too angry to tell her just how much alcohol had ended up being in that one drink. "Who fucking cares, Ellis? What were you thinking? Do you want a repeat of that guy Jake?"

"Come on, Jackie! It's not like I could have ended up pregnant this time! I'm not even _that drunk."_

"Well I'm sure you weren't done drinking!"

"What is your deal, Jackie? I was just having fun! She's a really nice girl!"

"Oh yeah? What's her name?"

She faltered. "Roxy? No...Ruby?"

I snorted in disgust. "Unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable. You should be glad I came in there when I did. I'm trying to look out for you and your stupid decisions, Ellis."

"Oh, _my_ stupid decisions. You're the one who stood there watching the fire. I mean, _you just stood there._ People are going to think you started it!"

We were stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, two crying inebriated girls having it out. Another small group came up behind us. Most of them walked around us, but one guy seemed to go out of his way to shove into me on his way past. "Psycho bitch," he muttered bitterly.

I turned and threw up in someone's front lawn.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I still need to get back in the groove of writing author's notes! I have two amazing reviews so far, both from **nimagine**! (Thanks for those, hun!) I just wrote this chapter last night and today, so it's currently all I have, aside from some snippets from later on. So this is the last chapter of intro; things are gonna get really good soon. Thanks for the warm reception, and please review! Kisses! - Ell_

* * *

The next morning, all I remembered about getting back to our room at Maiwand was that I flopped into bed and muttered, "Some night, huh?" to which Ellis huffed and had no other response.

The sun was coming in the window, and it _hurt._ I groaned and flipped my pillow over my face. Either the pillow or my breath smelled badly of alcohol, and I realized I hadn't brushed my teeth. I took a deep breath and rolled away from the window, pushing the pillow off my face.

I peered blearily at Ellis, who was looking at her own pillow in disgust. It was smeared with the rest of her mascara, and I became very relieved that we would not need these pillows for another night.

"What's that noise?" I asked, referring to the series of knocks that had woken me up.

Ellis shrugged and avoided my eyes. "I don't know, probably just someone doing shit in the hallway."

The knocks became louder and more insistent, and finally we heard an annoyed voice. "I have a key, girls."

"Shit," Ellis mouthed at me, finally meeting my eyes.

We both scrambled over our boxes towards the door, and opened it to find Mrs. Hessman, our severe looking but lenient dormitory head. This wasn't good. She only ever came knocking on doors when someone was in serious trouble.

"Rough night, girls?" she asked, lips pursed.

Ellis stared at me, but looked down as soon as I tried to make eye contact. I was speechless.

"Mr. Ferrier is asking to see the both of you," she told us seriously.

"Uhhhh...we're gonna need some time to clean up first, Mrs. Hessman," Ellis said, just as something to say. She gestured to her face. "Like you said, rough night."

Her eyebrows knitted and her lips were in a line. I knew she was trying to keep the anger and disappointment out of her face. "Five minutes. I'll be waiting out here, and I _will_ knock again."

We nodded and eased the door shut to get dressed and clean up. I thought Ellis' shoulders would stay slumped like they had in front of an authority figure, but she squared up and glared at me, pointing a finger in my face. "I swear to God, Jackie, if you get me in trouble over this I will tell them you did it and drown you in formaldehyde." With that she stalked into the bathroom to wash off her mascara streaks.

I kept myself moving, wriggling out of the black dress and into a Yankees tee and jeans, but all I did was mull over how serious Ellis had seemed. I mean, sure her parents pushed her, but they couldn't be unaware that she partied. And I knew she'd be screwed if she was expelled from Maiwand, but I liked to think we were close enough that it wouldn't turn her against me. It wasn't until I headed into the bathroom to swish some Listerine and she brushed past me, biting her lip and blinking tears from her eyes, that I got it.

She was worried her parents would find out she'd been with a girl.

As I rinsed out the stale vodka smell from my mouth, I stared into my own reflection's eyes and remembered when Ellis had cut her hair in the fall. She'd gone home one weekend and her parents had almost pulled her out, concerned she was falling in with the 'wrong crowd.' They even grilled me when she came back, wondering if I'd noticed anything worrying.

I needed to fix my hair, but the next round of knocks came on the door before I could even pick up the brush.

"It's time to go, girls," Mrs. Hessman informed us grimly. "Follow me."

"Is this about the party?" I asked almost hopefully, although I knew the chances were slim.

Mrs. Hessman shook her head. "No, of course not. Not the party, and not the drinking, although Mr. Perry's parents might have something to say to him when they fly back in today. We were all teenagers too, girls. I went to high-school with Mr. Ferrier, and I'll have you know that he was no stranger to streaking and jello shots. But we have reason to believe you were...quite close to the origin of the fire at the Perry's house."

"Is...is the house okay?" Ellis asked nervously, tearing skin off her lip and blinking too quickly.

Mrs. Hessman zipped her lips and said nothing else until we reached the headmaster's office next door in the administrative building. In front of the door, she hugged each of us before opening the door.

"Mr. Ferrier? I have Misses Murray and Watson for you."

She ushered us in and shut the door, sealing our fate.

My stomach dropped in a mix of confusion and horror when I saw _three_ chairs instead of two in front of Mr. Ferrier's desk, and that one of them was occupied by none other than Miles Perry.

* * *

"Do you girls have any idea why you're here?"

What a stupid question. They always asked that question.

I tried to meet Miles' eye. He was fixed on a scratch on Mr. Ferrier's desk as if it held a list of all the girls waiting in line to sleep with him.

"We can only assume it's about the fire at the party last night, sir," Ellis offered smoothly. I rolled my eyes. She was trying to play the good girl.

Mr. Ferrier sighed and leaned forward, resting his chin on his knuckles so that they cracked. "Fortunately, the damage only extended to one hallway on the top floor of the house, but this is still very serious business. Mr. Perry here has told me that you two were in the bedroom where the fire started. Is this true?" His gaze rested on me, and I wondered how much Miles had told him.

"Yeah, Jackie and Ellis were both in the bedroom," Miles piped up before either of us could open our mouths to try and explain.

"Maybe so, Mr. Perry," said Mr. Ferrier levelly, "but I've already heard your side of things. If you don't mind, I'd like to hear it from the girls."

I had no clue what he was doing. Not mentioning Goth Girl's presence seemed to be protecting Ellis, but wasn't insinuating that _I_ had been alone in there with her just as bad?

Whatever he was playing at, I could twist it to get everyone out of this. If he tried to change it, he'd already begun to talk, so it would only dig him deeper in.

"Yes, Ellis and I were in the room," I confirmed, my pulse hammering and hands sweating. Lying wasn't my _forté,_ so I tried to hide as much of my lower body as I could, hoping that the school's headmaster didn't think of body language much. "Ellis went with a boy from across town, and he kind of dumped her for a cheerleader. She was pretty upset, so I took her into the bedroom to calm down a bit. He knew she saw him with the other girl, so he followed us to try and apologize. He was pretty drunk and she told him to go and he backed up into the bedside table and knocked over a candle." What was I doing? What if he asked who the boy was? This story I was frantically weaving to cover up Ellis' sexuality was a house of cards with the threat of funnel clouds on the horizon.

Mr. Ferrier's face gave away nothing. I wondered if he played poker, or if managing a coed boarding school just required a more advanced lack of emotional expression. "But it was just a candle, right? Like a Yankee Candle? Why didn't one of you just pick it back up and beat out the flame before it spread?"

Really? The candle? Out of everything, he was poking holes in the candle? That was the true part! "He was out of the room in a flash," I elaborated, swallowing hard. "And the two of us, we were pretty drunk, sir. Once Ellis figured out was happening, she panicked and ran out to get help."

"You didn't? You didn't do anything, and you didn't run? What on earth were you doing, Jacqueline?"

"I just stood there, I was watching it. Like I said, I was pretty drunk."

"How much did you both have to drink?"

"I-I had three tequilas," Ellis whispered, forcing the words out of her mouth.

"I had a cup of punch," I offered, my heart finally not skipping because this wasn't a lie.

To my left, Miles snorted. "You got drunk off one cup of punch? God, I called it, you _are_ a lightweight."

I rolled my eyes and slapped my hands on the wooden arms of my chair, an unthought-through gesture of annoyance. "Okay, can everyone stop calling me a lightweight? That was my first drink ever. It didn't occur to me that the punch was already spiked, so I poured a bunch of vodka in with it."

Ellis facepalmed to my right. "Oh I bet _that_ tasted good."

"That's fucking disgusting," Miles choked out at the same time.

Mr. Ferrier stood up suddenly, and leaned over to us, his palms facedown and flat on the desk. "All right, that's enough. I thank you _immensely_ for your immaculate details, but I've already talked to all the other Maiwand students from the party."

We all shut up, and Ellis lowered her head into her hands.

Mr. Ferrier took a breath and sat down when he saw Ellis. "Miss Murray," he said softly, "I am aware that Miss Watson wasn't the girl in the bedroom with you."

Any preservation left in Ellis' shoulders was whisked out, and she started sobbing.

"I'm not going to tell your parents. I just want to know: why did you go along with this lie instead of coming forward and telling me that Jacqueline started the fire?"

What. The. Fuck.

"Who the hell told you that?" I spat out in anger.

"I did, and so did everyone else," Mile volunteered, still avoiding my gaze.

"Why would you do that?" I asked him. I felt sick. Despair and fear and anger stretched in a network of dark matter across the pit of my stomach.

"Because that's clearly what happened! Kelly Warner saw you out on the balcony." The nasal girl. "You were watching Ellis flirting with Ruby and you were jealous. You clearly have a crush on her. Then you had your putrid cocktail and busted inside all angry, yelling and asking everyone where Ellis was like some wife stomping off to catch her husband with another woman. No one else saw anything until Ellis and Ruby ran out yelling about the fire, but it's pretty obvious what happened. You went in there in a blind rage and set the fire as revenge."

"Okay, that's not what happened at all! Tell them, Ellis, you were there!"

Ellis went pale. "I-I don't know. I don't really remember where you were between the time you came into the bedroom and the time I saw the fire and hightailed it. It's all a blur!"

"You didn't say anything about it on the walk back!" I protested. "We talked about how I went in there to prevent you sleeping with a stranger while drunk again! You said people were going to _think_ I did it."

Ellis spread her hands helplessly. "Jackie, I don't remember the walk back. But I know that what Miles says happened at the party has a lot of witnesses, and, well...that conversation of ours has just you."

"You seriously think I'd do something like that?"

"Jackie, you were drunk. People go crazy when they're drunk. I'm sure you wouldn't have done it sober."

"But I didn't do it period!"

"Then why did you lie?" Miles asked, his arms crossed.

"I was trying to cover for Ellis, Miles! You did too at first!"

"Covering for Ellis, or covering for yourself?" Miles shot back.

"Miss Watson, there is a reason Mr. Perry was already in here when you arrived. After speaking with him first thing this morning, I was well aware that you would try and talk your way out of it."

"You would have been convinced I did it even without Miles' help. So why?"

"Arson may be gravely serious, Miss Watson, but no one actually saw you set the fire. Three people in this room saw you lie, most likely to cover it up."

There was no way this was happening. This _couldn't_ be happening. "Ruby!" I exclaimed. "What about Ruby? Maybe she remembers better than Ellis!"

Mr. Ferris shrugged. "We'll settle that once we're able to contact this Ruby. Mr. Perry, Miss Murray: you are both off the hook for this incident. Miss Murray? Do exercise more caution with your romantic exploits. Miss Watson…" He turned to me, great disappointment in his face. "You had better hope you win the scholarship, because you will not be welcome back for fall semester."

"But sir -"

"I'd suggest you finish packing. Parents will be here in an hour, and I'll need to explain the situation to yours."

* * *

30 minutes later, Ellis' parents arrived to load her belongings into the back of their minivan. She didn't say a word to me as she weaved back and forth, sullenly removing every trace of herself from this dorm room for the next three months.

"You sure that's everything?" I heard Mr. Murray ask from outside our room's open window.

Ellis smiled. "Yeah, Dad, I just have to go get my purse." She turned and ran back towards the building.

She swept past me to pick up her purse and keyring off her bed.

"Have a good summer," I offered as she was on the way out, plastering a smile across my face. "Text me."

She flinched slightly, as though a cold breeze had swept through the room, but otherwise acknowledged nothing.

I sighed heavily and headed down the hall to see if my parents had been intercepted by Mr. Ferrier yet.

I still didn't believe this was happening to me. This wasn't some oversold teen drama show. Unfair situations in this didn't happen in _my_ life.

Little did I know, my life was going to get a whole new level of weird.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Here's chapter 4 for you! This is about twice the length of my normal chapters, which kind of freaks me out, but I also kind of like it. I'm writing and updating when I can, don't worry. And this is the chapter where we meet Shasta at last! Enjoy, and don't forget to review! - Ell_

* * *

So. That's the story of my expulsion from Maiwand. But that's not what this story is about. This story is about how unexpected and dramatic the change to my life was afterwards, and how I was introduced to the most peculiar and intriguing girl I have ever met.

But just hang on. There's still a little bit more I have to breeze through about that summer.

About a month after the incident, I was drinking a smoothie at the park a block away from my parent's house, baking in my jeans but unwilling to expose my legs.

I heard a small group of boys conversing among themselves as they approached, and couldn't help but listen in. I'd spent the last few weeks wandering around my parent's small town, people-watching, since my father had been rather hostile towards me since my dishonorable return from Maiwand.

"Dude, did your cousin seriously decide he -"

" _She,_ Jackson, God!"

"- decide he was a girl?"

" _She's_ a girl, you idiot. Show some fucking respect or I'll shove this ball in your nuts." He made a low pass with his basketball at Jackson as a warning.

Jackson sidestepped the ball and snorted. "So _she's_ a transvestite."

"She's transgender, Jack, what the fuck's wrong with you?" Chimed in the third boy.

The first boy redirected the conversation. "Anyway, so she chose the name Ava and my mom was a little weird at first, but today she's making breakfast, right, and she just goes, 'Ava. That's a really pretty name. I like that better than I liked Kevin.' And you know what? She's right. And I was thinking…" They faded out of earshot.

Something in their conversation hit me and stuck like a tennis ball hitting one of those velcro-covered mitts you'd strap to your hands and play catch. _Transgender._ I chewed the end of my straw in thought as I looked down at my boobs and curves. It made perfect sense. The way my eyeball twitched slightly out of irritability whenever someone called me Jacqueline. My burgeoning discomfort with the feminine areas of my body. The way I envied the guys wearing tuxedos at school formals when I was stuck in some stupid, frilly formal dress. Could it be that this wasn't _puberty,_ as my mom always dismissed it, but dysphoria?

I tossed my empty smoothie cup and walked home, my thighs slick with sweat from my long pants. I had some internet searching to do in the safety of my air-conditioned bedroom.

So I was a boy. And my name was Jay. Jay Watson. I liked the sound of that.

I won the scholarship on my 17th birthday. I know it seems like I should make a bigger deal out of it, given how excited I was about the concept of it. And I was excited! But my family dropped their disappointment in me to hold a huge celebration, and I think that sucked the joy out of me. I was relieved, _so_ relieved. There wasn't the worry of finding another area school that would take me for my senior year. And I could start over somewhere completely and entirely new, reinvent myself as a boy, and introduce myself as Jay to people who hadn't known me my whole life. But the cloud of proverbial smoke from the night of the fire still hung over my head, and it wasn't in me at the moment to be outwardly joyful.

The 14th of August, with one week left until I moved into the dorms at the Musgrave Academy, I was cleaning out the crevices of my room and found the black dress from the party stuffed all the way under the bed, right up against the wall.

Bile in my throat, I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and texted Ellis, the first time either of us had initiated contact that summer. _I found that dress I borrowed. You want it back?_

I heard back about ten minutes later. _U keep it. I can't b reminded of that nite. I ditched my outfit 2._

I slumped down on my bed and put my head in my hands, letting my phone fall in my lap. I stared at the dress, crumpled on the bed beside me. On a whim, I held it to my nose briefly. It had never been washed, and still smelled faintly of booze and smoke. This dress represented everything I had been, everything I had hoped for, and everything I wasn't anymore. My heart swelled with courage, and I picked up my phone again. _I got the scholarship._

I never got a response.

It took a lot of thought, but I finally elected to stuff the dress in a plastic freezer bag and pack it in my last suitcase. I was never, ever washing it. I didn't have to avoid the memories, not like Ellis. I would _never_ be like Ellis, the weak friend who let their roommate take all the blame just because I was _scared._ That dress shaped me, and I would keep it as a reminder of how I got to be who I am.

My parents let me haul all my bags down into the back of my dad's old Plymouth by myself. They said it was important that I do this work by myself, since I did all the work to earn the scholarship. Sweat dripped from every part of my body, and I begrudgingly removed a pair of shorts from my luggage to change into. It was better than enduring the half-day road trip in stinking, sweaty pants.

I climbed in the backseat of the car as my parents kissed goodbye to our graying old bulldog. My fingers tingled, and I took a breath. I knew things were about to change. But oh boy, did I know _nothing._

* * *

When we pulled into Musgrave Academy, my jaw went slack. I was more than familiar with the photos of the campus in the pamphlets. Hell, I even had a collage of campus views printed and stuck to my wall at home. What can I say? I was a covetous 8th grader.

None of the collections of pixels translated onto paper could _ever_ do it justice. We drove through a massive set of iron gates on the way in, and the grass was as close cut as a newly minted marine's hair. Not a single blade had been missed. There were no dandelions, and no clover. How was that even possible?

The buildings looked straight out of the Harvard catalogue: tall and brooding and smacking of intellect. The light brown stone was accentuated by wrought iron and immaculate ivy tendrils. Flower beds flanked the pristine walkways to every building in side, and lilacs and box shrubs lined the front of the main school building.

My dad parked in front of the administrative building and looked around appraisingly. "Well, I must admit, the state of the campus alone explains the price of tuition." He took my mom's hand and turned back to me. "Come on, sweetie. We'll get your luggage later. We need to go check in and find out who your roommate is."

Oh my God. I didn't have any idea going into this who my roommate was going to be.

Mom must have seen my face, because she gave me a soft, sympathetic smile. "This wasn't exactly planned ahead, muffin. I'm certain they'll have somewhere to put you. You may even get a single room for a while!"

Dad snorted. "A single room gives her more room to misbehave, Miriam."

I slid my hand under my thigh and clenched it. "I went to _one_ party, Dad. Three years of high school and _one_ party."

"And you see where that got you. You think it was strict enough at Maiwand? Schools like this are like prison, Jacqueline. You put a toe out of line and they will tear you apart."

I swallowed hard. "Sometimes staying in line is all it takes to be out of line."

My dad pressed his lips together. "Come on," he said finally. "Let's get this over with."

He was wrong, I told myself over and over as we walked briskly towards the administrative building, passing the already moved in students who were milling around, talking and laughing and showing off their new cashmere tops and two hundred dollar jeans that had been distressed and ripped in the factory for some ungodly reason.

This place may be manicured like the first lady's poodle, but sometimes a higher standard gave those under its rule much more freedom than they'd have on a looser leash.

I was thinking too much. I had fallen behind. I knew this the moment the figure beside me wasn't either of my parents.

"You think it looks perfect, don't you?" asked the boy next to me. He was tall, had short brown hair, a thick Boston accent, and his hands were scrunched deep into his jeans pockets.

"It's everything I ever dreamed," I breathed.

"You're wrong," he said simply, and walked away.

I looked after him, puzzled, but was torn away by my dad's voice from the doorway. "Let's go, Jacqueline!"

I flinched at the use of my birth name, and looked around to make sure no one was paying attention. I fully intended to introduce myself as Jay to every student.

"What are you doing? We'll be late for our meeting with the headmistress."

"Just taking in the sights," I called. "On my way, Dad."

I jogged to catch up with him, feeling the heat of the New York summer air on my cheeks, and I was still a little flushed when we stepped into the headmistress's office.

"Good afternoon!" She said warmly. "I'm Mrs. Doyle. You must be the Watsons!"

I wondered if she had deduced this by the fact that my father wasn't wearing an Armani suit or that we didn't have a security detail. Then I remembered that I had been the sole winner of the school's first ever full ride scholarship, and that the time of our meeting had been meticulously set two weeks ago.

My mother and father shook her hand and primly took their seats. Mrs. Doyle turned to me. "You must be Jacqueline!"

I smiled stiffly and shook her hand.

She sat back down, face still aglow with hospitality. I didn't know if it was relieving or frightening. "Now, I will be meeting with you all for about 15 minutes, and then I'd like a word with Jacqueline alone. After that, I'll give you directions to the girl's dorm halls, and you can meet Jacqueline's roommate!"

"Who's my roommate?" I asked nervously, sliding into the split second before my mother opened her mouth. She gave me a look. "Ma'am," I added.

Mrs. Doyle opened the file in front of her and scanned for a moment. "It looks like the girl's dorm head has elected to room you with Shasta Holmes…" She paused, chewed her lip, and met my eyes. "I do hope you'll get along all right. Miss Holmes has a bit of a...reputation."

My dad leaned forward in his chair, all broad shoulders and muscles from years in the army. "Will this girl get my daughter into any kind of trouble? Because I'm sure you've read what happened at her previous school. If there could be any kind of illegal activity, I want my daughter roomed elsewhere."

Mrs. Doyle nodded earnestly. "I understand your concerns, Mr. Watson. Frankly, I find your concern refreshing. Most of these student's parents couldn't give a hoot who they room with, just so that it's somewhere with a pretty campus and a pricey tuition. But I assure you that Miss Holmes isn't involved in any illegal activities. Quite the opposite, actually. She's got quite a...keen eye, shall we say, and has helped local police on many occasions. The only thing is that she can be a little...high strung. Of course every genius must have a flaw, right? Anyway, her previous roommates have raised issue with her attitude, but I'm sure this year will get along quite smoothly. After all, it is senior year!"

I heard Mrs. Doyle gushing, but my heart sped up, and I stopped giving my full attention once I realized who my roommate was. It couldn't be anyone but Violet Holmes, the girl Ellis had told me about back when I found out about the scholarship. But Mrs. King had said her name was Shasta. Oh well. Violet was probably the name she used on her website.

I reached into my pocket for my phone, ready to shoot Ellis a text. _You'll never believe who my roommate is!_ Then I remembered, and resigned myself to another shot in the heart.

My dad silently cracked his knuckles one by one as he uncomfortably studied the edge of the desk. "I'm sure it's all in your file, but after Jacqueline entered her essay for the scholarship, there was an issue at her old school, and she was expelled. It's quite sensitive, we're actually extremely lucky no one pressed charges. It's best to be forthright, really: it was arson."

My mouth dropped open. "How many times do I have to say I didn't do it?"

My dad glared at me, and Mom shifted silently in her chair.

Mrs. Doyle held up a calming hand. "Now, now, regardless of the real fault, the official record states that you were at least partially responsible. And, after all, there _was_ alcohol involved in the situation, which certainly adds more confusion on everyone's part. However, we at the Musgrave Academy pride ourselves on our discretion, especially considering the relations of many of our students. In addition, this was the first note on a spotless record, and your grades are impeccable. As long as you keep your head and your grades up, there's nothing to worry about it."

If I could have added a :) onto her statement, I would have.

They quickly reviewed the rest of my transcript, then Mrs. Doyle asked to speak to me alone, ushering my parents out to wait in the hallway. "We'll just be a moment," she assured them with a smile that looked like chloroform.

She sat me back down, and instead of sitting behind her desk, she took the seat beside me. Not the one two over, no. The one beside me. She left no space between us. This threw me off. "The final year of high school is a hard time in anyone's life," she said, placing a hand cautiously on my knee. "And sometimes parents aren't the best advice givers, I get it. So what's on your mind?"

I narrowed my eyes. "What makes you think something is?"

"When I said I'd be meeting you one-on-one, your eyes lit up."

"Oh." I didn't know what else to say in response, so I paused for a moment and licked my lips before responding. "That night was the first party I went to in high school."

Mrs. Doyle stuck out her bottom lip and nodded. "It's good to hear you're not one to cave into peer pressure easily."

"My old friend Ellis - she was my roommate at Maiwand - she convinced me to go. She said I was a fledgling bird and needed to leave the nest or some shit like that." I looked quickly up at Mrs. Doyle. "Sorry," I added. She hadn't flinched. I'd forgotten she worked with teens. "Freshman year she got super drunk at some party and went home with some guy. She woke up in the morning and didn't even know his name, so she called me to come get her because she didn't want to go buy the morning after pill alone. She got turned off of guys after that; it's been all girls ever since. I owed her after that too, she got me through most of high school without pulling my own hair out, so I figured I should protect her from any more drunk sex."

I looked up again. Mrs. Doyle was still listening intently, so I continued. "That night I noticed Ellis and this girl from the school across town chatting it up over drinks. So I was keeping an eye on them. But when I saw them, I felt weird. Not just scared for her, but...I don't know. Bitter? So I got a drink. My first drink ever. And my older brother's an alcoholic, right? So I've never once wanted to touch any kind of booze. But I saw Ellis with that girl and I couldn't stop myself. I grabbed a cup of punch and poured a whole bunch of vodka in it."

Mrs. Doyle smirked. "Did it not occur to you that the punch was already spiked?"

I sighed. "Apparently not. It was disgusting, and by the time I turned back around, Ellis and the girl were gone."

I was about to describe the truly disastrous part of the evening, but Mrs. Doyle held up her hand. "Do you think you were jealous of Ellis being with someone else? Maybe you wanted her?"

My hands immediately became a very fascinating thing to look at. "I - I don't know. Actually...can we talk about that in a minute? I need to finish my story."

"Of course."

"Okay, so they disappeared. So I went in to start checking bedrooms. I found them, and the girl - her name was Ruby - jumped off the bed to put her shirt back on. She backed up into the bedside table and knocked over this candle. When Ellis realized the table was on fire, she grabbed Ruby and pulled them out of there to yell for help. But I just stood there watching the fire start to spread. I was so drunk. Everyone thought I started it. And you know, it was a big party. People missed the details. And Ellis couldn't remember the next day, and they never found Ruby to get her statement. It was weird, really, Miles Perry hadn't invited her, and she wasn't anyone's plus one. Anyway, so the next morning we got called into the headmaster's office, and -"

Mrs. Doyle stopped me. "The transcript of that meeting is in your file. I just wanted to hear that night in your words."

My shoulders slumped. "Ellis went along with everything just to protect herself. She won't talk to me this whole summer. I doubt she ever will again."

Mrs. Doyle patted my knee. "Sometimes it takes a complete nuclear fallout to show us who our real friends are."

"I guess so."

"Now, what about that jealousy?"

"I always thought I was straight. I dated a boy for a while in 8th grade, just to do it." I scrunched up my face. "Actually, I don't think we ever definitively broke up. But I never saw the need for dating through high school. I've always been busy reading and writing and studying."

I paused. I was going to tell her. I couldn't wait any longer. "Romance brings me to something else. A lot happened this summer. And it kind of brought some things to light for me. The person I was before - that wasn't me. I hate people calling my Jacqueline. I always had people at school call me Jackie. And I hate my body. I mean, not my _body._ I don't think I'm fat. But I have boobs, and a vagina, and super feminine cheekbones, and I hate it. I haven't told anyone yet, but I think I'm transgender. With this being a new school, I figured I can't disguise the fact that I'm a girl, but I can at least tell people my name is Jay. I mean, I know it has to say Jacqueline on my record, but I figured you could at least help a little?"

Mrs. Doyle was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Jay...I understand. I gave birth to a baby with a penis. She started transitioning about three years ago. You're right; I can't change your official student record. But I'll pass around your name to the teachers for roll call. It's up to you, you can tell all the kids your pronouns, too. And if they give you shit?" She leaned in close to me, and I smelled her sugary perfume. "You come tell me."

Something about that struck a nerve with me. It wouldn't improve my reputation at a new school to have the headmistress fight my battles for me. And a standout reputation was part of being Jay-not-Jacqueline. But internally, I was still terrified, and I appreciated the gesture. I'd just bared my soul to Mrs. Doyle, however, and I didn't feel like sharing this, too. Plus, I had to save _something_ juicy for my new roommate. So I just nodded.

Mrs. Doyle squeezed my arm and rose. "Come on, Miss Holmes is probably waiting. I'll see you out and give your parents directions."

I stood and followed right behind her, almost bumping into her when she paused with her hand on the doorknob. "Jay?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Maybe you are straight. Think about it."

Before I could get in enough rapid blinks to process her statement, she was opening the door. She faced me in the hall in front of my parents. "You'll be in Wisteria Lodge. Pull out of this parking lot and take a left. Park in the main lot, and it'll be the building on the left. Go in and meet Ms. King, the house leader, and Miss Holmes, and then you can get your luggage settled in."

She'd made a commitment to me both to respect me and not out me to my parents, and she was being careful not to address me directly in front of them. I appreciated her flexibility. I'd tell them at some point, just not now. Picking me up from my old school, they had to find out I'd been expelled. As they were dropping me off at a new school, my quietly conservative parents didn't need told that their daughter was a son.

"Just a warning," she continued, still talking to me, "you are the sole recipient of a brand new, school specific scholarship. There will be a short announcement at breakfast tomorrow. Just stand up and wave so everyone knows that's who you are. You'll have the weekend to settle in, and classes start on Monday. I believe you were asked to sign up for your electives by last week. And finally, text me if you need anything." She pulled a small card from her blazer pocket and handed it to me.

I folded it into the pocket of my shorts and thanked her. She handed a card to my parents as well before we left.

* * *

We pulled into the parking lot for the "Lady's Quadrant," as a granite sign proclaimed it. It was wide, and divided into two sides. The left appeared to be for Wisteria Lodge, which I would soon call my home, and the right was for the other girl's dorm, Briony Lodge. The parking lot was faced by a courtyard, for lack of a better term. There were three buildings: The lodges on either side, and on the far end, another, longer building. I wasn't sure what exactly it was. I'd be sure to ask. All of the buildings were in the same, classical style as the rest of the campus, and were connected by brown stone walkways. Stone and iron benches were scattered along the edges of the courtyard, with equal parts shade trees and open sun in the center. To the left of the parking lot, right next to Wisteria Lodge, was an ancient, gnarled wisteria tree, which I could only assume had given the lodge its name.

Stars sparkled in front of my eyes, and I blinked, realizing my breath had literally been taken away. My heart was pounding. I wiped my hands on my shorts and pinched my thigh to ground myself in the moment.

I overtook my parents on the way up to Wisteria Lodge, which I could tell they found odd, but that it made them infinitely proud that I had stepped out of their shadows for once today.

I guess inside I expected the place to look a lot like the outside. And, to a point, it did. The foyer was floored with panels of mahogany, and a golden chandelier hung overhead, casted monochrome disco lights over all of us. But from what I could see of the common room, the stairway, and the hallways both upstairs and down, it was perfectly evident that several dozen teenage girls lived here nine months out of the year. Someone had already shed a pair of frighteningly high heels and a fluffy pink cashmere sweater on the side of the stairs, and three separate cans of Diet Coke were within my line of sight. A girl was at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed on top of the banister, looking down on the lower floor like a hawk.

A plump, rosy woman in a black and yellow sundress bustled out from behind a desk unit in the foyer, opposite the common room. "Hello, dear! I'm Ms. King, head of Wisteria Lodge. Who might you be?"

"Jacqueline Watson," I forced out. I'd update her later, if Mrs. Doyle didn't.

Ms. King smacked her bubble gum, and I caught a whiff of strawberry-citrus. "Good, good!" She shook hands with my parents and embraced me as though I were already under her wing. "Now...Violet should be around her somewhere…"

My mom's eyebrows crinkled. "Violet? Mrs. Doyle said my daughter's roommate was named Shasta."

Ms. King waved her hand dismissively. "She asks us all to call her by her middle name. Now, where is she…"

"I'm here, Eileen," came an imperious voice from somewhere overhead. The girl on the second floor straightened up and walked down the stairs like a prom queen, even though she was only wearing skinny jeans and a filmy black cold shoulder top. She was petite, only about five foot two, and her long, black hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail. Her nose was narrow and long, like the bird of prey she'd so resembled up there, and as she approached, I could see that her eyes were an astounding silvery gray. I got the distinct impression that she'd only been up there so that she could make a dramatic entrance.

"I'm Jay," I told her.

"Jay?" my mom asked in confusion.

Shit. I shrugged and turned to her, willing myself to play it cool. "New school, new rules. It's even shorter than Jackie."

"Okay, muffin…"

She shook hands with me, and then my parents. "I'm Violet Holmes," she introduced herself. She was British. Her accent was prim and concise. North London, maybe? I watched a lot of British cinema, but I couldn't be certain. And I was definitely not going to think of her as simply _Violet._ She held herself far too regally for that.

"Well, she doesn't _seem_ like the rebellious type," my dad muttered to my mom.

I elbowed him. "Dad!"

Shasta raised one thin eyebrow. "Well, I could certainly look the part if I had to," she replied with a level voice. "I trust you know what I do?"

"Er, yes, the headmistress filled us in," my dad answered.

Shasta's other eyebrow raised. She looked genuinely taken aback. "You mean you didn't already know?"

"I did," I volunteered.

She gave me a half smile before turning to my parents, clapping her hands decisively. "Well, now that we're all acquainted, you can all bring in Jay's luggage and say your goodbyes. I need to use the loo, and then Jay and I will take the things to our room." She flashed us a smile and set off down the hall.

"Well," my dad mused, "she's all right, I suppose. A bit conceited, but -"

"Harry!" My mother admonished. "Do you have to be so critical of our muffin's new roommate?"

My dad opened his mouth to argue but sensed it was wiser to shut up.

It took the three of us three trips to bring in my bags from the car and set them at the base of the stairs. I hugged each of my parents goodbye several times; they were tearful, I wasn't. Then they took a last look at me before walking out the door.

Shasta returned from the bathroom on cue. I wondered if she'd watched from around the corner until my parents had gone, and I couldn't decide if this was tactful or irritating.

I wanted an explanation to be the first thing out of my mouth, but Shasta spoke before I could. She even sounded a little bored. "You're trans, and your parents don't know."

It took me a moment to be able to speak. "How…"

She shrugged. "You're dressed in a way that very purposefully hides your feminine curves. You usually wear a simple layer of makeup to conceal your pores, which are frankly awful, by the way, but today you took special care not to accentuate your eyes or cheekbones. Oh, and you blurted out a shortened version of the short version of your name before your parents could say anything."

"Wow," I managed, slightly offended, but mostly impressed.

Shasta's eyes flicked towards the clear glass double doors. "Now, Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"I - what?"

"Your father," she explained with a note of impatience. "Was he in Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Uh, he did two tours in Afghanistan, 12 years ago. How are you doing this?"

"I see things other people have inadvertently trained themselves to overlook," she replied. "Let's get this stuff to our room. I made sure when I first got here that my room was down here. It's easier for moving my equipment."

We both slung a large duffel bag over our shoulders, took a wheeled suitcase in one hand and a handheld suitcase in the other. This only left a couple of duffel bags and my backpack left on the foyer.

When Shasta opened the door to our two-room suite, 221, I was appalled. Boxes and bags were already everywhere. I really had to step in for a closer look.

There were two twin beds, against the walls in the back of either side of the room. There were still imprints on the carpet from where they'd originally been. Someone had moved them there. The carpet itself was stained and faded. Our room faced the outside of the building, and there was a single window between the beds. We each got our own footlocker at the foot of our beds, and our own desk and chair with a decent sized bulletin board in front of that. Near the door on the right was a bookshelf and a mini fridge with a microwave on top, and then the door to the bathroom. To the left of the door were two folding tables that had been set up and pushed together. On top of them were three boxes with beakers and lab equipment visible from the top. Suddenly, the stains on the carpet made a lot more sense.

Shasta saw me peering at them. "I dabble in chemistry. I have keys that allow me access to the school's science labs, but I still prefer to do small experiments here, where I can keep a better eye on them. Hence the carpet."

I nodded and lugged my bags over to the unclaimed bed - the one on the right.

Shasta followed my lead and then turned to me. "An ex-military man, particularly one who was deployed, has a very peculiar posture. They never quite lose it. But his isn't as pronounced as it would be if he'd only been medically discharged, say, a year ago."

"How do you know he was medically discharged?"

"He has a limp. He was either shot there or caught a piece of shrapnel. But it's an old wound, just over ten years old. It only bothers him in times of transition. And I was outside when you got here. Your family's car has a bumper sticker that says 'my husband is deployed.' It's got to be at _least_ ten years old, it's peeling like a bad sunburn. Where could a man of about 40 have been deployed and wounded in just over the past decade? Afghanistan or Iraq."

I took it all in and shook my head. "That's weak. You had no way of knowing that my dad's old wound was connected to the military."

She smirked. "But I was right."


End file.
